


Every Single One's got a Story to Tell

by TibiDecet



Series: That one SBI d&d AU (now SBI&CO) [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: A bit of swearing, A lot more swearing in chapter 5, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fighting, Gen, Humor, MORE TAGS WILL BE ADDED AS CHAPTER ARE UPDATED, Singing, Training, a tiny bit of self conscious Wil, mentions of drinking but nobody gets drunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TibiDecet/pseuds/TibiDecet
Summary: MCC is a yearly tournament that is well known throughout the whole world.It is run and organized by Scott Major, the legendary Noxite and his crew. They spend a whole year to put together incredible challenges for adventurers to take part in.Many competitors are well-known, as they started gaining their fame from winning, but the tournament is open to all adventurers that are looking to prove their worth.People from all over gather to watch the tournament take place, sometimes even to see new legends being born.-------About a month ago a couple of friends asked me if I was ever going to add MCC to the Au and, well, this is it!Updates will be once every couple of weeks!
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Hbomb94 & Smajor1995
Series: That one SBI d&d AU (now SBI&CO) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003593
Comments: 56
Kudos: 206





	1. A Familiar Face

**Author's Note:**

> This is for all the lovely people of the Au's Discord <3  
> I love all of you so much, you people make my days!

It was a lovely morning. 

The sun shined through the tinted windows, turning the light a soft orange glow that lessened the glare of it against his eyes. 

It was a welcome respite: during the months that involved preparing the tournament, days were quick to melt together, nights becoming just darker afternoons as Scott and everyone around him hurried to make everything look ready for the contestants' arrival. So, not having the sun shine directly into his eyes as he looked over the final challenges that had been chosen for the tournament was a relief. The cup of warm tea by his desk was also a saving grace. 

Stifling a yawn, Scott figured that he could let himself take a stroll. Maybe open up his window, let the room freshen up a bit. 

With his window overlooking one of the many parks inside the Academy, maybe he could distract himself for a moment and see if his protege had finally started warming up to his teammates. 

That plan had flown out of the window almost immediately. Or maybe it would be better to say that it had flown  _ into _ the window, along with a green tipped arrow that had suddenly appeared in his field of vision. 

Now, Scott hasn't been adventuring for a while, but it would be foolish to think that he's forgotten how the world works - with a flick of his wrist, a translucent dome of purple arcane energy materializes between him and the incoming arrow, which impacts with the barrier a split second later. The tip goes through, piercing the veil of his magic, and for a terrifying moment Scott thinks it's not gonna stop, but it simply stops, held in place as if caught in a web. 

Which is a relief, the amateur that tried to attack him - an  _ Archmage _ , in the middle of his  _ own Academy _ \- failed to get their first shot in and this will give him the time to step back and call his most trusted in order to quickly and efficiently get rid of the problem at hand. He has other more pressing matters to attend to, he's not going to waste his time on this. 

As his Shield spell fades, it congeals like a shimmering second skin over his upper arm. Maybe calling the guards isn't that pressing, he's got this. 

Or maybe he doesn't, he thinks as he get a second, much more terrifying surprise - in the span of a couple of seconds, he really can get no breaks.

A figure materializes in the air in front of him, with a dark hood over their head that covers most of their features except for a huge - terrifying - grin and an intricate bow strapped to their back. 

The figure appears with a puff of iridescent smoke, crouched in the air as if they'd been in the process of jumping before they decided to teleport, and- crashes into him, the force of the impact and the shock of it happening making him lose his balance and start falling back. 

There's a moment where Scott is confused: is this some sort of strange tactic? Did the stranger misjudge their trajectory? Are they going to wrestle on the ground as if they weren't both magic users? 

Then, a brief split second of panic - he didn't look what the stranger was holding, and he is currently falling on his back. He is going to get stabbed, at the very least, and that conviction is only made stronger as he feels the stranger's arms close in around him. 

But then, Scott has simply enough time to blink in shock, as the arms just wrap around his back, before his world is literally turned upside down. 

One moment he is falling on his back, already anticipating the pain of a knife to the back - please no vital organs, spare him the need for an extremely expansive healer. The next the is wrapped in a hug and grunting in pain as his knees impact with the ground. 

"Ah, fuck that hurt- Scotty are you alright?" 

Scott  _ refuses  _ to believe this. He pushes against the chest under him - the arms give, letting him go - and finds himself face to face with a sight that is both very familiar and weirdly unusual. 

" _ You _ -" Scott says, tone an unconvincingly mix of menacing and angry as he jabs a finger into the not-so-stranger's chest -"Are lucky to be alive. I could have  _ murdered _ you."

Hbomb's worried glance instantly brightens, despite Scott's best hopes, and he throws his head back to laugh. No matter how irritated he is at his friend, he can't help but huff out a laugh himself, and a moment later they're both chuckling together on the floor. By all the gods, it has been some time.

"You are a dumbass, H. You couldn't just use the door? You know, like a normal person?!" Scott asks, holding himself up on his left elbow because H has always been one to laugh with his whole body and Scott is still recovering from jamming his knees into the floor, he's not in the mood to be jostled around by an enthusiastic ranger. 

"Aw, Scotty, aren't you happy to see me?" The half-elf asks, putting a hand on his chest as he fails to pretend he's insulted. Scott flicks his nose. 

"Ah- that hurt!"

"I know, I meant it to hurt. Now, do you want to tell me what you're doing here? And what is  _ that _ doing on your face?" Scott demands, serious at first until he realises that H has been growing out his beard  _ well past _ what he considers to be a good length - H's pout is barely visible under all that scruff.

"Well, now, that is unnecessarily rude. I've been traveling for a while now, and I wasn't gonna risk injuring myself-" Scott grabs a wandering hand and brings it back on H's chest. 

" _ H _ ." Hbomb has a tendency of gesticulating when his hands aren't being kept busy, and while he did figure that his friend had simply forgotten to shave, he has known him long enough to be able to recognise when H is going off on a tangent - which is perfectly fine - and when he's changing the subject because he doesn't want to answer. 

He knows he's right when H simply shuts up, eyes wide like those of a deer - quite fitting, considering where he enjoys spending most of his time. But instead of looking pensive, or starting to answer, H just … looks down. At where their hands are. 

Normally, he wouldn't think much of it. But H looks almost sheepish, and his eyes keep moving from his face to their hands, so Scott looks down. 

His brain screeches to a halt, and suddenly he stands up a little straighter, sitting on the floor next to H as he grabs his hand in his. 

Around his fingers wraps a perfect replica of a silver winged fae dragon, while in his palm- one of the most accurate representations of the different Planes. 

Scott turns his stare to his fiend, who looks more calm than Scott feels he has any right to, and when he speaks he sounds almost breathless. 

"What happened to you?"

The tale of how  _ Shubble _ 's patron reached out to him to grant him powers is exhilarating. Not in the "funny" sense, more in the "my friend who is usually not that fond of talking and interacting with people especially when he's not in a place he is familiar with, was transported to a different plane and spoke with a being of transcendent power". So maybe a bit in the "funny" sense. 

The only negative side of the whole affair is the fact that Shubble is currently not present. 

She actually teaches at the Academy, so H was right in his assumption that reaching this place would have helped him out, but he just barely missed her by a couple of weeks. She's recently left, called out on an urgent mission by her patron themselves, and a part of Scott's mind can't help but feel like it is an extremely weird coincidence: he respects power gained through pacts, but he fears deeply the machinations of otherworldly beings' minds and the power they hold over his friends. He'd much prefer dealing with forces controlled by his own self, so that when a spell backfires comically he only has himself to blame. 

But all things considered, he's glad to see H is still alive and seemingly doing better than ever. He looks fine, happy and more confident than the last time he saw him - the way he stands and moves more firm, more secure, filling his space in a way the Hbomb of some time ago wouldn't have. 

It's nice to see him like this. 

What isn't nice is the way his increased confidence leads him to suggest how good of an idea it would be for him to take part into the tournament. Which is a horrible idea. 

"Listen, I know I am banned from playing again-" H starts, arms spread open with a mischievous grin on his face. Scott has sudden flashbacks to all the times he'd seen that grin from the other side of the battlefield and shakes his head firmly before pointing a stern finger at his chest.

"You still have a year before you can." 

H huffs, shoulders falling, and he adopts the most fake-innocent expression Scott has ever seen. 

"But I'm just here to say hi!" Scott levels him with a blank stare, using all of his willpower and internal strength to avoid bursting out laughing. Because for all that his friend's expression is hilarious, this is really no laughing matter. He can't have him win  _ again _ . 

"I said what I said." H's head hits the desk with a groan of protest. 

On the other side of the table, Scott pinches his own arm in order not to laugh. 

He fails.

H still manages to pout his way into getting a free room to stay in for a while -  _ just like the old times, come on! _ \- and seems to be alright with being left to his own devices for the rest of the morning. 

Knowing him, he'll take it as the perfect chance to snoop around, make new friends and bother the tournament's contestants. 

As Scott turns back to his schematics, the only thing he does is chuckle to himself. 


	2. Don't keep me waiting

The noise inside the tavern hits them like a tidal wave the instant they open the heavy looking oak doors: a cacophony of people talking, friends cheering, music playing and orders being shouted from one side of the room to the other. 

On one hand, it makes Wilbur flinch and recoil, his ears ringing with the sudden switch from being in the quietness of a mostly desert street to  _ this _ ; the good thing is nobody really pays any particular attention to their group entering. They do of course gather some looks and stares - they're a big group after all, most people here are either in small, four-people groups or even smaller. 

But Techno's trademark pink hair is safely hidden under a hood, in order to allow him to walk around without getting constant stares - respectful, fearful or otherwise. They're here to have fun, not pick fights; at least that is what they had decided on before signing up for the tournament. Except for Tommy: to quote the little demon, they were there to  _ win _ . 

Nevertheless. 

Wilbur is there, at that moment, in that tavern, to play and to share his music with a willing audience. So, while most of the others hurry to grab a big enough table and some extra chairs, Wilbur makes his way towards the innkeeper's desk, tail swinging back and forth, mind already running with ideas on what to play for this specific audience - adventurers are a picky sort, they either like your song or they boo you out of the tavern, and he wants to give a good impression especially with the tournament coming up-

The innkeeper sees him and Phil approaching, his eyes darting to his brand new splendidly hand carved guitar - he will never ever ever be able to repay Tubbo - before he lets out a tired sigh. Which comes crashing down onto Wil's mood like an avalanche, covering instantly all his bright ideas and expectations. 

It's Phil's hand on the small of his back that brings him back into focus, prompting him to regain the sway in his step - no time to mope, they're here for at least another month.

"I don't suppose you have a spot open for tonight?" He asks, putting on his best vendor voice, and he can see the tiredness in the eyes of the person in front of him. 

"I do not. You can have half an hour in two days. Name?" The person asks, voice flat with the face of somebody who's had to repeat this process so many times just tonight. So Wilbur swallows down his protest - half an hour in two days is a  _ horrible _ deal - and nods amicably. 

"Wilbur, Wilbur Soot." The innkeeper looks to be thinking intensely for a moment - a spark of hope shines in his chest as he hopes for a moment that his name will be recognised, since he's spent the past years building up his fame by working tirelessly -, then they shake their head and write down something that vaguely resembles his name next to some numbers. Wilbur smothers the irrational, embarrassing disappointment that threatens to rise in his throat.

"You have my thanks, good sir!" He adds enthusiastically, voice pitched a bit too higher than normal, because a part of him feels for the poor soul who has to deal with people of all sorts, and swivels on his feet. 

Phil's hand on his shoulder brings him out of his own mind as he's  _ definitely not storming away  _ from the poor innkeeper's table. He doesn't even need to say anything: Wil deflates instantly, tense shoulders sagging instantly and a long sigh leaving him as he leans into the elf. 

"I really wanted to play." Wilbur grumbles as Phil's hand moves from one shoulder to the other, effectively bringing him into a half-hug and ruffling his hair with a chuckle. 

"I know, and you're going to." The elf replies, tone calm and reassuring, and Wil can't help but ache a little, feeling like a kid all over again and not liking it even a little bit. Once, he would have stayed quiet and stewed into his own brooding mood, but he knows now that he can rely on the others for situations like these. So he ignores how awkward he feels at protesting for something as silly as this, and lets himself pout. 

"Half an hour is so little, though. And since we're not taking any jobs for a while it could help with paying for the tavern." Phil quietly hums in response and experience tells him that he's pondering over a good answer. Wil's eyes scan the tavern - bigger than he first realised - looking for Tubbo's bee, as he figures it's going to be the easiest thing to recognise in the literal sea of adventures of all kinds.

"You know we don't need it. And I'm sure once they hear how good you are, they'll be asking you to play every night." Phil comments, starting to guide him towards what he thinks is the right direction, but Wil is a bit more preoccupied with preening, slightly flustered, due to the compliment. One would expect him to be used to them, but the thing with his friends is that praises from them always feel a little more true, a little more honest, and they always hit him in the best way possible. 

When they join the rest of the team - clustered around a single medium sized table - Wil's mood has significantly improved. 

There's food already waiting for him and as soon as he sits down a fox jumps in his lap and curls up, snout raised towards him to slowly blink at him before he buries his head in his tail. 

Wilbur starts digging into his meal with gusto, lightly scratching behind Fundy's ear as the shifter decides to take a nap.

The tavern is, overall, a nice place. It's cool to see so many adventurers gathered together, and hearthwarming to be able to see many new friendships blossoming. 

After the team announcements that same morning, there are some people that have found themselves needing to look for strangers basing themselves only on names - or worse, nicknames. 

Wilbur figures that the people that are in the best position to find their teammates are those who have been paired with bards, as there have been half a dozen different people performing ever since they sat down to eat. 

Luckily for him, his own team has no such problems. Tubbo, Niki and Fundy, on the other hand, are still waiting to learn who their fourth is going to be. Since the training grounds will soon be open for team practices, starting from the next morning in fact, they plan on looking for them there. 

Tymora, or Lady Luck, has apparently other plans for them. 

It's nearing midnight when a short man with only one eye and a thick Draconic accent walks up the stage for what seems like the hundredth time that night. In his hand, the same piece of paper that has been progressively getting more and more ragged as the evening went on. He unfolds it as he walks up, thanking the tired looking bard that is leaving the stage, and it rips in half - his only reaction is a sigh and a shrug.

He squints, putting together the parchment and pursing his lips as the two ripped halves slowly mold back together, then calls out, somehow magically raising his voice over the sound of the tavern's clients talking and clapping for the leaving bard.

"Next up: Quackity! Come up the stage!"

Fundy's fox claws suddenly dig into Wilbur's legs, making him wince in pain and choke on his sip of mead. A split second later, he's got a lap full of disgruntled mage. 

Tubbo, on the other side of the table, is standing on his chair in order to see the stage over a firbolg's shoulders - holding himself up by using Tommy's head, who is extremely unwilling. 

"A  _ bard _ ?!" Fundy exclaims, prompting Wilbur to move his eyes from the stage towards him with a frown.

"What's wrong with bards?!" He asks, helping him get off of him and into his abandoned chair. Before Fundy can find a way to put his rebuttal into coherent words, Wilbur's eyes snap back toward the stage as people are starting to give a quiet, tentative clap for the newcomer. 

The kid looks human, probably about Niki's age, and he sits down a bit awkwardly on the stool he brought with himself before plucking a couple of strings on his guitar. They're sitting quite far from the stage, but Wilbur's trained eye still manages to catch the fact that that is an old and well used one - his heart squeezes just a bit at the thought of his former source pride and joy, the guitar he travelled with ever since he left home.

Wilbur knows, viscerally, of the fear that always precedes a performance, especially in front of a new crowd.  _ Especially _ in front of adventures, whose tastes are ever changing and easy to sway from the crowd's perspective: adventurers either like you, or they don't, and if they don't you're not gonna have a good time.

And yet. 

After checking his guitar, the kid looks up with a bright smile and a confident expression and starts playing - no buildup, no further introduction, no boisterous announcements of his titles or fame. 

And by the gods does he play. 

He's good, but he's not just technically good: he's an entertainer, plays with his guitar as much as he plays with words and with the crowd - clearly making up verses for his songs to fit what happens around him, bantering with the adventurers that step up to his plays of words. Sometimes he bursts out laughing mid verse and despite that his fingers never stop flying over the cords, his laughter becoming part of the song itself. 

Halfway through, he catches Techno's eyes: the shifter raises an eyebrow and Wil simply nods, so Techno nods back

The tiefling is glad to know that they both think he's good, they had been worried about leaving the three newest additions to their team alone with a random stranger. 

And if the enthusiastic way the rest of the team is clapping for him, they're going to get along more than well.

Half an hour later a flushed and visibility sweaty Quackity makes his way down the stage, followed by a thunderous applause and some occasional claps on the back; one passing adventurer even thrusts a pint of ale into his hands, prompting what looks to be a flustered reaction from the bard as he quickly makes his way out of the tavern. 

Either that or he needed some air, which was completely understandable, especially after such an active performance. 

Wilbur is about to comment on the stellar introduction they just received when the sudden noise of hands slamming onto the table - their table - makes him jump in his skin.

"We  _ have  _ to go and say hi!" Declares Tubbo, still standing on the chair - now with Niki helping him not fall to the ground. 

Tommy nods enthusiastically next to him and even Fundy seems to be about to agree. To be quite honest, Wilbur wants to join in too and is therefore about to stand up when Phil raises his hands to get them to slow down. 

"You're gonna scare him if you all corner him outside. How about his three teammates go,  _ on their best behaviour _ ?" The elf concludes, shooting Fundy a pointed look. 

The shifter gapes, looking extremely insulted, then he starts to protest and finally he sighs with a pout. Ah, the wonders of people arguing with Phil. 

"Alright, no pranks and no scamming. Pinky promise." Fundy huffs out, crossing his arms over his chest and slouching down into his chair. Wilbur does his best to chuckle under his breath, because he's not any better, he's just not the target of the reprimand for this time. 

Then, Phil's stare turns to his left. 

"You too, Tubbo. No scams." He states, prompting Tubbo to almost fall over as he agitatedly protests, spluttering out indignantly. 

Exiting into the coldness of the night is almost a shock, especially when compared to the almost too warm air inside the tavern.

The sounds coming from inside are almost completely silenced, and when they close the doors behind them the stillness of the night is all they can hear. Fundy shudders for a moment, his body struggling to adapt to the lack of heat, when his instinctive reaction would normally be to morph back into his fox form. He snaps his fingers together, conjuring a small flame in his hands to keep himself warm, and sees Tubbo moving closer to him before he remembers that ah, right, the kid can't see in the dark. 

Still, it's not hard to find their objective - their future friend, as he's already been dubbed by Tubbo. Quackity is leaning on the outside wall, right next to an illuminated window, pint abandoned on his side as he looks at the night sky, one foot tapping on the ground as if following a silent melody. 

In the beginning, the plan had involved Niki leading the way, so that she could introduce the three of them and they could all make arrangements to meet the next morning at the training fields, so that they could all be friends and hang out and win the tournament. 

Said plan is instantly scrapped the instant Tubbo lets out a small gasp, eyes going wide as he hurries to duck around Niki, swiftly avoiding Fundy’s hand reaching out to grab at his shirt. The young human scrambles to reach the sitting bard, who naturally flinches and stares in confusion at the kid running towards him. 

As Tubbo finally gets close, he stops and points at Quackity’s head.

"Hi! You have a moth on your head." 

Fundy’s groan is so loud, it reaches the two of them even though he is currently a couple of steps behind and hiding his face in his hands. Niki’s high pitched giggles follow suit, and are soon joined by a shocked burst of laughter - loud, bright, just like his music - from the human sitting in front of Tubbo. 

"I- Hi! I do?" Quackity asks, voice tilting upwards as he looks up, as if he could be able to see his own head by rolling his eyes into his skull. 

Tubbo giggles seeing him go cross-eyed, and reaches up to gently take the moth in his hand. The little bug’s wings flutter a little as he is moved, apparently not glad to be disturbed from his perch, but he seems to begrudgingly accept his new spot since Tubbo holds him close to the light coming from the tavern’s window. His wings are very pretty, a light grey with black streaks into them that look like the splatters of ink that cover the pages of Tubbo’s various notebooks - his ever growing collection of plans and schematics for new and old projects. According to Tubbo's admittedly limited experience with moths, this one is smaller than one would expect. Very tiny and friendly - "just like you!" Wilbur would probably say if he were there. 

"Aw, look at him! Isn't he cute?" Tubbo coos at his new friend, prompting a slightly awkward chuckle from Quackity as the man moves just slightly away from the insect.

"I'm not a fan of bugs, but, uh- he does look fancy." Q eyes nervously the other two, but Tubbo ignores it, too taken with his new little pal to take care of trivial things like introductions. Niki just smiles warmly and opens her mouth to do so - possibly to also reassure the poor human - , but Tubbo is already speaking again.

"My friend can speak to bugs! He said moths always think of food and light." Quackity is once again seemingly stunned, stuck between the awkwardness of not knowing who the people surrounding him are and the confusion regarding the topic of discussion. He blinks, shooting a look towards the bug in Tubbo's hand before quickly looking away with a light grimace, choosing to focus on Tubbo himself.

"Well, little buddy better not get hurt trying to reach a flame!" Q jokes, letting out a small chuckle. Tubbo's face turns from awed to serious in a split second, his other hand moving to cup around the moth.

"That won't happen, I'll protect him!" He answers determinately, nodding solemnly towards Quackity, who can only gape for a moment before bursting out laughing again, shaking his head a little. 

"So, uh … Is there a reason why you've cornered me, or are you just fans?" He asks after a moment, once his chuckles have died down, turning a raised eyebrow towards Fundy and Niki, still standing a bit awkwardly behind Tubbo. 

"Oh, we are your teammates! We recognised your name and figured we should say hi." Niki explains with a smile, moving to crouch next to Tubbo so that the young human can move the moth closer to her.

"You- oh! Oh! -" Quackity exclaims, eyes widening and suddenly looking at them with less confusion "-That's good to know, what a coincidence!" He comments, chuckling to himself as he wipes a hand over his face, grimacing at the dampness that comes away with it - he really needs to wash up.

"And yet! The gods smile upon us." Niki says with a smile, watching as the moth flutters his wings to move from Tubbo's hand to hers.

Nobody seems to notice the unimpressed look that Quackity shoots towards the night sky, but Tubbo's eyes snap towards him the instant he lets out a deep sigh.

"I guess so. Anyhow. I'm going to pass out on my bed, I'll see you tomorrow morning?" The human asks, tone a sweet mixture of enthusiastic, hopeful and exhausted as he moves away from the wall - his guitar in one hand and the untouched mug of ale in the other. 

Tubbo nods enthusiastically, grinning widely at him; next to him, Niki smiles kindly, while Fundy goes for a much more noncommittal nod of his head.

Quackity's eyes linger on the three of them for just a moment more, as if trying to figure something out, then he nods to himself and raises the mug to mimic a toast in their honour, opening the door to the inside of the tavern.

"Don't keep me waiting!"


	3. The Runaway Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my lovely friends of the DnD AU Discord, and for Ozzie, the Number One Eret fan <3

Eret feels before they see Sapnap's fist collide with his shield - arm raising to catch the blow purely out of instinct, still reeling from the sudden outburst of speed. 

When Dream had said Sapnap was fast, she hadn't expected the human to be  _ that _ fast. 

And yet.

Sapnap had disappeared from the edge of the training field and reappeared in front of Eret, his right hand slamming against the metal with so much momentum that the elf's arm almost gave out. 

A loud whoop comes from behind Sapnap: Dream's cheering for his friend, arms raised and eyes glinting - not that Eret can see that, they're a bit more preoccupied with their friendly spar.

Eret's eyes widen in shock, but he has no time to accept the fact that her teammate is terrifyingly nimble since the shorter man's left hand grabs the shield a split second later. 

Eret grips the shield tighter: they expect his opponent to try and wrench it out of their hands, or maybe move it out of the way to hit her in the chest; instead, Sapnap just grins - an almost feral thing that makes Eret's fight or flight response kick in - and  _ hoists _ himself up, taking advantage of the fact that now Eret's holding the shield up more firmly, and flies up, straight over Eret's head. 

The elf has a split second to make her decision: either they bend down or shift away, possibly moving into Sapnap's next attack, or he starts to fight back. 

Because the thing is, physics is on his side at that moment. 

So, instead of trying to move away from the squirrely monk grinning down at her, Eret grins back, and puts all of their strength into raising the shield to follow the direction of Sapnap's movement. 

Again, Eret isn't able to see it, but on the sidelines George's lips twitch with a suppressed smile while Dream's jaw falls open.

The monk's eyes widen in surprise as suddenly he's being thrusted forward, moving the hand that had been raised to punch Eret to grab at the shield in an attempt to stay attached. 

For a split second, Eret's reminded of a childhood memory, of afternoons spent sledding down snowy mountains using wooden planks, and he has to stop herself from chuckling.

_ Splendid _ , Eret thinks, letting their back bend further, following the momentum of Sapnap's body and transforming what had been a jump upward into an arch back towards the ground. 

"Oh  _ shit _ -" she hears Sapnap curse as their feet leave the ground. Eret flies upside down above Sapnap for a split second that stretches for an eternity - thank the Nine Hells for the endless hours of ballet dancing - , the monk still gripping the shield more out of shock than anything else, then she brings her feet on the shield and lets gravity do the work. 

The shield crashes - sadly - onto the grassy ground below, since Sapnap managed to roll out of the way just in time to avoid being crushed; Eret rolls the other way, avoiding a kick aimed at their side before standing up. 

The two of them stare at each other for a moment, breathing hard, eyes wide but smiling.

"That was fucking  _ badass _ , man!" Sapnap breathes out, grin still firmly planted on his face - Eret's eyes fly over his form, notice the scraped knuckles on his right hand and internally he flinches. She'll have to patch him up later, but for now, they can afford to show off a bit more. 

Eret grins back, bending his head in thanks, then their hand moves to the hilt of her sword. 

Eret unsheathes her sword with flash of light against metal, immaculate blade flying through the air as they show off some extremely fancy and definitely not combat-useful manoeuvres. 

An appreciative whistle from behind Sapnap makes him chuckle, instead the monk huffs out and turns to glare at his taller friend. 

"I thought you were on  _ my _ side!" The monk complains, shoulders dropping a little, and Dream just shakes his head, eyes crinkling at the sides as he smiles - one tusk pushes into his cheek, Eret wonders how annoying it is, if they ever hurt.

"We're all on the same team, dumbass." The half-orc replies, in a tone so fond that Eret almost lets out a cooing sound - but then stops, because maybe it's a bit too early for that.

When Sapnap turns back, eyes rolling and grumbling under his breath, the point of Eret's sword is pointing straight at him.

"Ready for round two?" 

By the time Eret manages to pin Sapnap to the ground - his sword nailing the side of the human's shirt to the ground, to the shorter man's dismay - they're both breathing heavily and sweating profusely; Eret's win is decided more by a mutual agreement that maybe they can have a break now. 

In fact, the instant Dream calls the end of their spar, Eret lets out a deep sigh and lets herself slide to the ground, arms spread open and head resting on the surprisingly soft grass - it reminds them so much of home that for a moment their heart aches and he almost expects a servant to arrive and let him know that he's late for one of many scheduled duties. 

Sapnap turns his head to the side, a tired grin on his face as he lightly punches Eret's shoulders; the elf simply chuckles in answer, lightly punching him back before the sun suddenly disappears as a figure moves to stand next to the pair. 

"Sap, I can't believe you got your ass handed to you!" Dream exclaims, pretending to be shocked as he kneels down on the grass next to his friend and shooting a quick wink towards Eret, who immediately bursts out laughing.

" _ What?! _ That is so not true, man, what the fuck!" Sapnap protests, pouting as he crosses his arms over his chest - slowly and gingerly because he can already feel a bruise forming on the inside of his left arm where Eret  _ slapped him with their sword _ . Still, pretending to be offended is worth it, since Dream does help him up immediately after. The half-orc then proceeds to ruffle his hair and wrap him up in a hug, which shouldn't make him feel immediately better but it still does. 

Still on the ground, Eret watches with fondness - and a tiny bit of envy, she's strong enough to admit - the pair; then their eyes catch George doing the exact same a couple of paces behind and he can't help but chuckle to themself. The wizard startles, as if waking from a charming spell, and quickly looks away, brows furrowed and grumbling to himself as he moves to get closer to Eret, starting to grab some rations from his backpack. 

"Here -" he says, sitting down cross legged and helping Eret to sit up "- We can eat and then we'll go over the general way the tournament works."

Dream peeks down at the food in their hands curiously and hurries to grab a loaf of bread for himself before it gets snatched by a ravenous Sapnap. 

"Sounds good to me." Eret concedes, digging into their meal, but Dream lightly elbows George's side.

"Why aren't  _ we _ sparring today?" The half orc asks with a grin, to which George blinks nonplussed.

"I mean, I guess if you want to lose that badly- I figured it could wait a while before I destroyed you on the battlefield." George replies, completely monotone, leaving Dream apparently stunned as the half-orc's jaw falls open. Eret snorts into his hand, trying to cover up the laughter that threatens to spill; meanwhile Sapnap is unabashedly rolling on the floor, clutching at his stomach and slamming his hand on the ground. 

That, at least, seems to reawaken Dream.

"I- shut up, Sapnap. That's not that funny, shut up." He protests, pout clear in his voice as he lightly kicks the monk's shin - Sapnap lets out a pained "ow" between one chuckle and the other, but it still takes him a while to calm down. 

"I could kick your ass, by the way!" Dream protests: George's answer doesn't come, since the mage simply decides to trace a pattern into the air. A moment later, a translucent, spectral hand appears where George's hand had been, and it gently floats towards the waterskin the mage had left by the entrance. 

"Alright, I mean, that's not that cool." The half-orc adds with a slight frown, watching the hand bring the waterskin to George. But then, while the mage is taking a sip of water, the ghostly hand swiftly turns and- flicks him on the forehead, leaving Dream sputtering at nothing and prompting Sapnap and Eret to burst into a fit of giggles once more. 

"Who knew  _ George _ could be funny!" Sapnap, the fool, the absolute fool, exclaims. George levels him with a judgemental stare, and a moment later the ghostly hand is dumping the rest of his water on Sapnap's head. 

Dream fights like a marksman shoots. 

While Eret's attacks flow like water, a continuous dance of flesh and iron alike, Dream is slower, more methodical. 

He paces the battlefield almost lethargically, stalking his enemy like a predator - Sapnap knows him, knows this behaviour is as much of an integral part of his tactics as the strength of his blows. Another extremely important part of Dream’s fighting technique is his mask: it’s impressive how much insight your emotions and eye movement can give to your enemy. 

The clear ceramic conceals most of what Dream is thinking, and it’s usually what gives him the most advantage - yes, it sometimes becomes cumbersome and it does slightly restrict his eyesight, but he’s learnt to deal with it. It’s also, according to Dream, a necessary tool, as he considers himself too much of an open book. 

Dream stops his slow walking, seemingly waiting for George to make the first move, and gestures to the empty space between them with his axe. 

“Come on, I’ll let you go first, since you’re so sure you’ll win.” The half-orc goades, tone urgent, the thrill of the fight almost making him bounce on his feet, while George merely raises an eyebrow, looking almost lethargic.

“Alright, since you’re so kindly allowing it.”

He reaches out with one palm open, muttering something under his breath - Eret recognises the harsh intonation of the Draconic language but is unable to understand what it means. A softly glowing sphere of light appears next to his head as he closes his fist, then he quickly twists his wrist while opening his hand again, as if letting go of a feather in the wind: one after the other, about a dozen other spheres appear around him, forming a set of three concentric circles - satellites orbiting around him, their speed increasing rapidly.

“Oh boy.” Sapnap mutters, eyes wide as they move quickly between his two friends. Dream raises his shield, and when he speaks the grin on his face is extremely visible despite the mask covering his face. 

“Come on, Georgie! Bring it on!” The half orc calls enthusiastically; Eret, who has been intently staring at George, manages to catch the suppressed amused smile that appears for just a split second on the mage’s face. A moment later, the half-elf’s hand pushes forward, and the spheres of energy snap in motion, like darts from a crossbow. 

It all happens extremely quickly. The globes start moving, flying in the air, and from the other side of the field Dream makes his battleaxe clash against his shield. A shimmering purple light appears over the shining metal, enlarging until it forms a translucent bubble around the half-orc. 

There is a split second during which George looks actually shocked - Eret feels the same, neither had expected him to be able to cast spells - but then his stare hardens, brows furrowing as he snaps his fingers. 

"Oh no, you don't." The half-elf says, and all everyone else can do is stare, shocked, as Dream's arcane shield shatters a split second before George's spheres of energies slam into the half-orc's body. 

Eret's hand darts to their side, a subconscious act as she feels Sapnap shift forwards as if to move towards his injured friend. The human stops, thoughts visibly stuttering to a halt as he seems to come back to himself - realising Dream isn't actually in danger, just injured, as the half-orc is still standing and slightly panting. 

There are a handful of already forming bruises on his arms, his chest is hurting and he’s a little out of breath, but all Dream can think of is that  _ that was awesome _ . 

And. He may not know George that well, but he does know a bit about spellcasting. And using two high level spells one after the other does take a toll on one’s energy reserves - a trained eye, like Sapnap’s for example, might be able to spot the slight tremble in George’s casting arm and the light blue staining the tips of his fingers as residual magic clings to his body. What Dream can instead do is hope that the stunt George just pulled isn’t something he usually does. 

So he twirls the axe in his hand and grins, leaning back to prepare himself for a sprint forwards as he calls, in a singsong tone:

“Oh  _ George _ .” 


	4. Friendships and Rivalries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! This is an early birthday present for my Discord child ;) 
> 
> I've been receiving so many lovely comments for this fic (and the latest Ranboo-centric one I posted a couple of days ago <3) BUT I haven't been able to respond to them yet!   
> It's exam season for me and uni has been kicking my ass (mentally), but once I gather my strength I'll answer to all of you! <3 Thank you in advance, I appreciate each and every single one of you! <3
> 
> A special thank you to Ranch, Sky and Ozzie from the DnD Discord, who are the people responsible for the last part of the chapter <3
> 
> Also if you see any mistakes, please let me know ahah

The first time he sees him, it takes him a moment to register who he's looking at. 

To be fair, the amount of people around them is incredibly high, everyone moving in and out of the room to check out who their teammates will be, voices raising in calls and shouts and gleeful yells - so, basically, hell on earth. 

There is nowhere in the world that Techno would want to be any less. If he could leave that instant, he would. But they had decided to accompany Tubbo, Niki and Fundy, who were going to find out the name of their future companion for the next months or so, and it is a very good occasion to scout out the competition. 

So there Techno is, leaning slightly against Phil - not for comfort, why would anyone ever think that - while his eyes scan the crowd, trying to focus on his self-appointed task instead of the uncomfortable feeling rising in his gut.

There are some individuals that he thinks are going to cause problems. The academy students are a given: one may think that lack of outside knowledge and adventuring experience would make them a weak target. Those who think that way have evidently never heard of the academy - which was built and is currently ran by a former adventurer - and have somehow missed the endless training fields just outside the academic buildings. 

But there are also some adventurers that seem to know what they're doing; Phil taps him once or twice to nod towards them. Although to be fair, he doubts that relying only on first impressions is a good thing - their group surely doesn't look like a competent one with Tubbo and Tommy excitedly calling out random names from the board. 

Then, his eyes catch onto green skin. Half-orcs are definitely not that uncommon, especially when in a sea of adventurers,  _ but _ . It's a half-orc with an axe that seems to be as big as himself, its metal shining over the crowd, helped also by the fact that its owner is definitely taller than average.

So his eyes linger: the signs of Calvin's training are not that evident if you don't know where to look, but Dream has left the nest for so little, and Techno trained with the elf for so long ... It's all in the posture, the almost lazy way he places himself in the world, which highly contrasts with the way his muscles are tense and his shoulders are set. The pretense of relaxation is something that is very dear to Calvin, because it either gets your opponent overly confident, or it makes them extremely irritated and therefore more prone to making mistakes. 

Dream is surely going to be an obstacle in the tournament; him and the short human that's gripping at his arm and shaking it, who'd clad in outfits that resemble almost too closely those of Master Fruitberries. 

Techno lightly elbows Phil's side, distracting him from where he was staring at the row of academics looking down at the groups of adventurers. The druid turns with a small smile, a question in his eyes that is answered when Techno's chin juts out towards the half-orc. 

After a moment - during which Phil's eyes scan the young fighter's form, surely detailing weapons, armour and notable characteristics - he gives a small chuckle.

"So, your infamous rival?" 

Techno huffs, eyes rolling under the hood covering his face - they're not  _ rivals _ , they were just trained under the same master. There is no sense of rivalry, no feeling of needing to prove himself - certainly not to  _ him _ , and Calvin hasn't been a part of his life for so long, he doesn't need to confirm the fact that he is definitely  _ better- _

His arms cross over his chest without his permission - stupid subconscious movements - and he leans back, further into Phil. He does not care for all …  _ that _ .

Especially since he has no idea if Dream knows about him - it had seemed so embarrassing to ask Calvin, if he still spoke about "his favourite pupil", "his brightest student", considering how he literally just bailed on him in the middle of the night with no explanation. 

Still, Phil's hand reaches his shoulder, a gentle but firm pressure that forces him to stop curling up into himself while his eyes search him. 

"You're going to be fine. We're going to be fine. We know what we're doing,  _ Jerry _ ." Phil finishes with a chuckle, using for him the fake name they chose to keep their identities hidden. 

It makes Techno snort amusedly, which must have been Phil's objective with the way he's smiling at that moment, but it also eases his worries a little. 

It's just another enemy he'll have to face during the tournament. 

Nothing to worry about. 

The first time Dream sees Techno, he doesn't realise it. 

He’s walking to his own team’s training field, talking enthusiastically with Sapnap about their new teammates. He's still reeling from the fact that they'll be teaming up with George: a part of him worrying about the endless hours spent annoying the wizard, hoping it won't get in the way of their teamwork - he doesn't know yet that the two of them were chosen, that George hand picked them from a crowd of endless adventurers. George doesn't plan on telling them, but that is a whole other subject.

Still, Dream sees a colourful group of people lead by what seems to be a young tiefling - eyes narrowing with worry and confusion, because … a child? In the tournament? - and doesn’t take note of the hooded giant whose ear is being talked off by said kid. 

And even if he does, his eyes do not linger: it’s probably another overly-dramatic rogue anyway. 

Nothing to worry about.

That very same morning, Tommy had woken up with a spring in his step. 

_ Finally _ they were going to have an actual proper place to train in, for what was basically the first time since he'd joined this group, and he couldn't wait to try it out. He'd spent so much time talking with Techno about their plans, since the shifter had taken it upon himself to do a bit of digging to find out what the tournament was probably going to entail; finally they could put all that planning into motion.

Tommy had, surprisingly, been one of the first people to reach the main downstairs area, snagging a table for the whole team while Techno and Niki grabbed chairs for all of them. The three of them started eating, talking strategy together while the rest of the team slowly trickled downstairs. Some more awake than others, with the notable mention of Tubbo, who had never been a morning person and had therefore plopped down on his chair, head pillowed over his arms as he waited for the mug of coffee that Tommy ordered for him the instant he saw his best friend dragging his feet down the stairs. 

To be fair, everyone in the whole tavern seemed to be a bit sleepy, since they'd all stayed up very late - probably to celebrate the team formation announcement, but adventures rarely needed a proper reason to party. 

The last one to join them had been Fundy, who had half ran down the stairs and almost smacked into a dragonborn on his way to their table - slowing down as he reached them to pretend he hadn't been in a hurry, as if nobody had been watching him stumbling over his feet. 

"Oh, for the love of the gods above, are you still talking about training? What  _ nerds. _ " The mage had groaned, leaning back into his chair with a chuckle, ignoring the irritated look Tommy sent him. 

"You  _ literally _ carry around a book that's as heavy as you are!" Tommy protested, gesturing towards the mostly pristine tome half-hidden under the shifter's dark jacket, but Fundy simply waved dismissively at him. 

"Aren't you worried we'll copy your strategies, too? We're supposed to fight against each other!" Fundy commented with a coy look, raising an eyebrow inquisitively towards Tommy as he raised his mug to his lips to take a rather dramatic sip. 

Before Tommy could find a good retort to that, Techno's low voice raised over the gentle chatter of their table. 

"Brave of you to think I don't already know multiple ways of crushing you to the ground." 

The deadpan in Techno's tone, combined with his words, had Fundy instantly choking on his drink - the sound of his coughing covered by Phil's wheeze on Tommy's left while Niki tried to pat him on the back, stifling her own laughter behind her hand. 

Still, in the end that is what they agreed on: they would train separately, avoid helping each other more than necessary, and they decided to ban tournament talk during breaks. For all that Tommy wanted to spend all the time they had preparing, he was also aware that this was definitely a long process, and rushing into it would only make them all more tired.

But on the other hand, they had a week to spar and practice, so they were definitely planning on making the most of it. 

After breakfast they all returned to their rooms, gathered what they needed, and then hurried to the fields, with the promise of meeting back again only once the day was over. 

Which lead Tommy to his current situation. 

_ What the fuck are you doing to these poor eggs?! _ The indignation in the voice of his patron is palpable, the demon's words resonating in his head for a moment due to the sheer loudness of it. 

Tommy huffs and rolls his eyes, continuing to move the eggs around on the metal plate with the wooden spatula Phil had carved out of a thin branch. The pained noise his patron lets out when he stabs into a yolk reminds him of a whining puppy. 

_ Why, why, why?! Just leave them alone, let them get nice and crispy! Don't you humans know how to cook? _

Just for that, Tommy breaks another egg open and instantly breaks it apart, a part of him relishing in the desperate "no!" that follows. 

"I know how to cook, bitch! Why would I fry them, this is so much better!" Tommy grumbles under his breath, moving his other hand to the underside of the metal pan to strengthen the flame. Wilbur shoots him a curious look from where he's leaning against the tree, fixing one of the bandages around his fingers which had gotten loose from all the playing he'd been doing that morning. 

_ Why would you scramble perfectly good eggs?!  _ Tommy lets out a frustrated groan, the hunger in his stomach doing wonders for how quickly he's able to get riled up, and he waves the spatula wildly in the air - thankfully, years and years of training prevent him from burning instantly the wooden tool in his hand, otherwise that would have been quite awkward. 

"I like my eggs scrambled! Suck it up, this is what I'm getting!" He yells out, which immediately prompts the other to look over towards him. His patron huffs out in his mind, and Tommy can picture him crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. 

_ Alright, whatever, your loss, bitch. _

Tommy doesn't notice Wilbur standing up from his spot under the leaves, but he does notice the nudge in his side as the tiefling stands next to him. 

"Is good ol' cousin being a dick?" He asks, looking down at the eggs while Tommy snorts in laughter. 

"Yeah."  _ NO! _ the two of them answer at the same time. Only, Tommy's the only one Wilbur can hear, so the young human definitely wins that conversation. 

"He's always been a picky asshole about food." Wilbur comments, absolutely unaware of how the demon in Tommy's head whines and starts protesting - further proving the tiefling's point. 

"In fact, you know what? -"Wilbur's face suddenly looks almost scary with how his grin turns menacing "- I have plenty of stories I could tell you if he keeps bothering you-" 

_ I am realizing right now I have something so very important to do don't wait for me see you in a couple of years bye- _

Tommy's patron says in what seems to be a single breath of air, words slurring together and mixing with each other before the presence in Tommy's brain disappears. 

The young warlock blinks, stunned into silence at the suddenness of his patron's escape; a part of him wonders  _ what _ memories Wilbur has of their younger selves that made the demon flee so suddenly.

Still, then thing is … now that he's gone, there's nothing stopping him from asking, right?

"So?? Go on, tell me everything!" The presence is, of course, back in an instant, and if Tommy was concentrating he'd be able to hear his patron physical flailing as he struggles against the intangible in order to stop Tommy.

_ DO NOT- _

Fundy likes the new guy. He's extremely funny, that is for sure, but on top of that he is smart enough to keep up with his ramblings on team composition, and has been able to get along with the three of them quite easily. 

Fundy still considers a win the fact that he wasn't too weirded out by their less than stellar introduction, but in retrospect he shouldn't have worried. Quackity is cool. 

Or at least he seems to be, but Fundy will take it - he knows, despite what his mind likes to make him believe, that he can rely on others without risking too much, that he won't be ditched at the last second and left to pick up pieces-... 

But this is not the best time to be thinking about the past. 

Fundy turns another page on his notebook, the only book in his possession that's ragged and not well kept, and starts tracing down pathlines - the four of them have been talking about possible ways of getting around the obstacle course, since three out of the four of them are not that used to scaling buildings, and Niki can't really help all of them constantly, it would only slow them down as a whole. 

But before he can say anything, there's a sudden gasp from his left side as Tubbo darts upwards and starts running towards the edge of the training field - jumping straight into the arms of his best friend. 

"If you have a spell to make yourself faster, that could still be useful. The less people need help the better!" Quackity comments, bringing Fundy's attention back to the task at hand; the mage nods, now a bit absent mindedly as he watches the rest of their team trickle in their personal training area. He is suddenly more aware of the tiredness in his body and of the overall late hour. They have been working hard all day. They probably need a rest. 

Quackity, sitting in front of him, turns around to follow his eyesight with a questioning look and … Fundy knows he's not the best at noticing things about people, he's usually more interested in magic and how objects work, but he does notice Quackity's whole body flinch and the way his shoulders are suddenly ten times tenser than before. 

A bad feeling settles in his gut as questions start swirling around in his mind - he seemed cool, what is the problem now, and will it get in the way? - and he watches almost petrified as Quackity turns back towards him, two shades paler and eyes unfocused as he seems to be almost shrinking in on himself. 

The bard's body gives another jolt as if he's suddenly hit with a shocking spell as his eyes fall on Fundy's face - who, to be quite honest, was getting kinda worried - and then he blinks, as if coming back to himself with a small nervous chuckle. 

"You good, man?" Fundy asks tentatively, watching as Quackity shoots another look to the rest of the group only to turn back immediately when he notices that Phil is staring at the two of them - thanks, Phil, way to go. 

"I- I, yeah! Of course!" Quackity lies, evidently too shaken up to try and make it believable, but thankfully all Fundy has to do is level him with an unimpressed stare for him to crack - which is not a good sign, but Fundy will take what he can get. 

The bard bends forward, bringing a hand up to hide the movement of his lips from the rest of the group. 

"You never told me you hang out with Technoblade!" Quackity yells with a whisper, an edge of panic and urgency in his tone that makes Fundy burst out laughing, head thrown back as he clutches at his stomach. 

“Oh yeah! He’s a friend, a pal.” Fundy answers, waving around his notebook dismissively but unable to suppress the grin on his face: he hasn't had a chance to do this yet, this "I'm friends with one of the most famous killers for hire in the whole region" reveal, and he must admit he's been looking forward to it. The way Quackity's arms flail around in a mix of shock, anger and fear is definitely worth it.

“You’re friends with Technoblade?!” The bard whispers in panic, eyes wide, and Fundy is chuckling, lost in an internal debate on whether to double down on the traumatizing or to reassure the man, when he realises that Phil has been approaching them. The moment the elf kneels down on the grass, Quackity also notices him and jumps about a mile in the air. Phil, nonplussed, offers him a hand in greeting with a bright smile on his face. 

“Heya, mate! I don’t think we had a chance to properly meet yet, but I’m Phil. I love your songs.” Quackity, as Fundy has found out in the short time he's known him, does not know how to handle honest compliments - it's something the two of them have in common -, so he instantly flushes a bit, scratching the back of his neck self consciously. 

“I-uh- thank you! I really appreciate it!” Fundy sees his eyes subconsciously stray towards Wilbur, which makes him realise that it's not only Techno that has fame and renown; he wonders for a moment if Quackity's Techno-induced anxiety is also related to the fact that wherever the Blade goes, Wilbur Soot is always there with him - the Golden Bard, one, if not the best storyteller in the region. 

Phil's eyes follow to where Quackity seems to be timidly staring, and gives a small chuckle, making the bard's head snap back towards him.

“Don’t worry, he’s a big fan too.” Quackity sputters for a moment, rambled protests spilling from his mouth, but Phil merely laughs and pats his back, standing back up and offering one hand to each of them to help them stand up.

“Come on, we’re going to wash up and get dinner. You all deserve some rest."


	5. It begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early birthday present for the wonderfully talented Lando <3 I couldn't ask for a better partner in crime ;)
> 
> I'm back from hiatus with a brand new chapter! I hope you'll like it, and make sure to wish Lando a happy birthday tomorrow!!   
> ( Updates should go back to the usual schedule now! Sorry for the long wait, and thank you for being patient! <3 )

There's a rhythmic tapping coming from Scott's right as he looks through his spellbook for one last time. 

His right hand man, the head of his guards - of the stationed ones, at least the only guards existing  _ formally _ \- huffs out fondly, rolling his eyes as Scott's hand gently shuts the tome closed. He sticks his tongue out at the shorter man, prompting a chuckle out of him; after all they both know he doesn't need to freshen up his memory regarding this spell, it is simply tradition. 

Almost a century has passed since the first event, he's not going to stop  _ now _ .

The opening ceremony has always been a big deal: it sets up the mood for the first few weeks of the tournament, and it involves him having to talk in front of a whole stadium of people, which is as fun as it is anxiety inducing. 

It also involves introducing and showing off each participant, which is always entertaining; many crowd-favourites get chosen during these short moments, so it will be interesting to see what will come about. A handful of names jump to his mind, especially knowing what he’s discovered thanks to a cautious bit of espionage, but he’s still unsure of how much each contestant will try to focus on pleasing the people or on actually winning the games. 

Scott doesn't mind crowds that much, but he is still glad that Jordan will be next to him; the seasoned human has always been a friend, and he knows he can rely on him no matter what - it wouldn't be the first time somebody tried  _ something _ during the opening ceremony, but it would certainly be for the best if nothing were to happen. 

According to his  _ hidden _ right hand man, nothing out of the ordinary should be taking place, which is why Scott takes one last deep breath before exiting the soundless bubble they were standing in, stepping out on the balcony overlooking the main stadium and into the chaos of the roaring crowd beneath him. 

Wilbur will never have enough of the cacophony of a crammed full stadium. 

There is nothing quite like it, and ever since he got a taste the day before, during the opening ceremony for the tournament, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to live without it. As they walk into the sunlight, moving away from the shadows of the tunnel that they had to traverse in order to get to the main combat area, the cheers rise, louder and louder, edged on by the unnaturally loud voices of the mages that will present the participants. 

A shadow shifts in his peripheral - Techno, advancing towards a good hiding spot behind one of the tall rocks that are scattered around the stadium - and he lets out a small chuckle, fixing his grip on his guitar as a bodiless voice calls out the fake names they had submitted in order to attract less attention. 

Wil reaches the center of the stage in a series of quick determined steps, then stops and turns around with a flourish, strumming the chords of his instruments to cast a quick spell:

“ _ Good evening, everyone! _ -” he calls out, tail swishing behind him as his voice booms, resounding magically in the whole stadium “-  _ Are you ready for a show? _ ” 

The crowd erupts in cheers, adrenaline flowing through his blood like fire, and his lips stretch in an impossibly wide grin; a second later Tommy appears, shrouded in flames as he slides across the field towards him, looking almost as if he were flying.

“ _ I didn’t quite hear you! I said…  _ -” he repeats coily, his view of the world around him temporarily hidden as Tommy twirls around him, sending sparks in the air as the ground sizzles around them. The boy comes to an abrupt stop next to him, unleashing arcane flames higher and brighter for a split second that leave a burnt circle on the soil. 

“ _ Are you ready for a fucking show?! _ ” 

If he’d thought that the crowd had been at its loudest before, he would have definitely been proven wrong now, as the stadium seems to shake with the enthusiasm they’ve pumped into them - it is an arduous task, keeping the crowd energetic when they’re the last to perform for that day, after hours of fighting that must have left the people watching as exhausted as the people fighting, but somebody has to do it. When Wilbur turns towards Tommy the kid is glowing, and it’s not only due to the flames still surrounding his body. He pumps his fist up, towards the air, and lets out a gleeful whoop as the sound of Phil’s laughter reaches them.

The druid is twirling his own staff and, as the two of them start loudly cheering him on, he cackles and puts a bit more effort into it, letting it fly up in the air before smashing it down on the ground, where a spark of arcane energy bursts outwardly with bright green light. Iridescent glyphs appear on the staff, water bleeding out from the wood itself almost like sap and freezing instantly, while ice crackles and shifts as it forms a spiked clump around its top: Wilbur whoops even louder, letting go of his guitar to clap his hands together, resisting the urge to chant his friend’s name - they’re saving  _ that _ for the future, no need to reveal their identities so soon. 

Wilbur is in the process of reaching for his instrument again, possibly to start playing something while they wait for the gates to be lifted and their mysterious opponent to show up, when a long, drawn out lament fills the air around them. The tiefling feels his spine straighten on instinct, the chilling sound causing a sudden shift in the overall mood they had created as a wave of fear swoops over the whole stadium - Wilbur would be angry about it if it wasn’t for the fact that his knees feel a bit weak, hands tightening around his guitar as if it could help stop them from shaking. 

Despite being frozen in place, in a mix of fear and surprise, he’s able to shake himself out of his stupor, looking up to the rest of his team with a tentative grin. But Phil isn’t looking at him anymore, he’s reaching out with a worried expression towards- 

A body collides with his own as Tommy, shaking like a leaf, eyes clouded and wide open, stumbles backwards, clutching at Wil’s shirt like a lifeline. It’s the unnatural murkiness of Tommy’s usually bright blue eyes that clues him in on the fact that this is a spell, not a natural reaction to a definitely frightening sound, so Wilbur steps between Tommy and whatever has taken hold of his mind, praying to Tymora that wherever Techno is he isn’t going through the same, and presses both of his hands over his friend’s shoulders. The kid clutches at his shirt, still muttering curses under his breath, and Wilbur struggles for a moment to catch his eyesight. 

“Tommy- Tommy,  _ calm. _ ” 

The human gasps in a breath, his eyes squeezing shut as he shakes his head and lets go of Wilbur to cling to himself.

“Fucking- go on, don’t- don’t mind me …” He hisses, muttering to himself about “definitely not acting like a little bitch”, and Wilbur turns, still shielding Tommy with his own body, and hopes that whatever his dear cousin is telling him, it’ll help shake him out of that enchantment. 

Despite the fact that Wilbur has been able to overcome his initial magic-induced fear, it’s still a bit of a shock, seeing the aberration floating menacingly towards them: it looks like a dark blue cloak, larger than a chariot, with a long boney tail, light pink, almost white eyes and a lipless mouth filled with an impressive amount of teeth - it resembles vaguely one of the sea creatures they’d encountered during their travels by the sea, but it definitely isn’t the beautifully elegant animal they’d seen doing somersaults near their ship. 

Phil steps up next to him with a dark look in his eyes, and Wilbur would chuckle at the protectiveness of the older elf if that wouldn’t make him feel terribly hypocritical. 

“Let’s bring that thing down, see if it acts all high and mighty then.” He mutters, raising a hand towards the beast and then  _ pushing down _ . It appears that the creature is not used to that particular feeling, because it lets out a high pitched trill and starts gliding towards the ground, decisively less able to resist Phil’s spell than the elf had initially expected. Not that he’s complaining. 

But as the beast is descending, it lets out another whimpering groan, its form shifting and blurring, shadows solidifying into two other copies of the original; whether it was a momentary distraction or a voluntary effect, Phil curses under his breath as he’s unable to distinguish which one is the original. 

He is able to clearly see, instead, the gleam of a dark dagger as it sails through the air and embeds itself straight into the back of that beast's head, carving through its flesh like butter and embedding itself into the ground a handful of feet to its left. 

Then, it what would have otherwise been an extremely comical display, both the dagger and the beast disappear in a gust of smoke and darkness. 

A loud and indignated "Eeh?!" comes from what Phil assumes to be Techno's hiding place - a moment later the rogue himself pokes his head out from behind the stone column, waving that very same dagger towards the two remaining aberrations. 

"You're welcome, I guess?" He calls out, before disappearing into the shadows again, prompting Wilbur to burst out laughing. 

It's at that point that the tiefling realises, his shoulders relaxing instantly, that Tommy is also chuckling lightly behind his back - he figures he either snapped out of it or the beast's spell has a short duration - so he steps forward, moving a bit closer to the two huge figures now squirming on the ground with a renewed spring in his step.

“Not that scary now, eh, you big sheet?!”

The two aberrations on the floor flinch back, writhing from the effects of his words as if insulted - although the tiefling isn’t sure that it’s actually able to comprehend them - just a split second before two beams of fire sail past him. One strikes true, hitting one of the two beasts right into the center of its forehead; but the figure only shifts, blurring for a moment before it melts into nothingness. The second sphere burns a scorching mark on the ground right where the  _ apparently  _ true aberration was just a moment before, having moved due to the bard’s spell. 

“Ah,  _ Wilby! _ ” Protests Tommy; when he turns with a grin he can see - as expected - the young warlock staring angrily at him, hands still smouldering as he throws them into the air exasperatedly. 

That is also the last thing he sees before the beast behind him lets out a shrill whimper and lurches forward, its wings wrapping around his body and completely obscuring his vision. 


	6. Rivals and Friendships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution warning for some violence, nothing too graphic I think, but let me know if I should add any specific warnings!
> 
> I hope you enjoy, thank you as always for reading!! <3

If Dream had to be honest, he’d say that this team seems to be quite fun. 

They appear to be very close friends, from the way they rely on each other and joke around despite the huge Cloaker trying to wrap around the bard hurling insults at him. He does also remember the kid, the one he’d seen at the training grounds, and he’s happy to say that he was wrong to doubt his place in the tournament - he can surely handle himself quite well, and on top of that he clearly has a well established supporting structure built around him. 

While the tiefling makes sure to make light of the situation, no matter how much he gets thrown around, Dream still remembers how he’d stepped between the younger teammate and danger before; the half orc greatly respects that, heaven knows how many times he's stepped between something aimed at Sapnap and vice versa.

On top of being a well oiled machine, this team also knows what they’re doing, both in terms of fighting and in terms of  _ performing _ ; he can’t deny how he’s been at the edge of his seat ever since they first entered the stadium, despite how his body is still a bit sore from fighting a Barlgura earlier that day - who knew ape-looking demons could hit that hard? 

Sapnap's voice has been turning rougher and rougher too: he had been yelling insults at their opponent all fight, and now he hasn't stopped loudly whooping once ever since he'd seen the kid swoop into the stadium looking like a bolt of fire - the two of them would probably get along, if given the chance; that or they'd murder eachother after just a handful of seconds.

The only thing that's missing from this party is their fourth member who, if memory serves him well, is a rogue - the tall hooded figure he'd seen hanging around with the (maybe?) two tieflings. 

He has been seeing the Cloaker they're fighting flinch back from ranged attacks that seemingly come out of nowhere, but as of now they haven't shown themselves yet. Either that or their fourth party member is constantly invisible, which George has assured them would be a pointless waste of arcane energy - Dream and Sapnap agree that it would still be very cool, but they have a mutual agreement regarding trying to stay on the wizard's good side, since they convinced him on sticking around after their round to watch everyone else instead of going to rest. 

He is in fact in the process of turning towards George - he'd seen the tiefling kid surround himself in flames ever since the start of the fight and he wanted to ask if that was a common tiefling trait - when a light blue reflection catches his eye. A figure leaps from a stone pillar and disappears mid flight, as if vanishing in thin air, and reappears over the Cloaker's body, since the beast had managed to free itself from the arcane shackles that held it firmly to the ground.

In line with the dark, hooded figure that he’d seen that day at the training grounds, the stranger lands in a crouch, surprisingly stable, cape flowing behind them in a way that almost feels too elegant for the yelling-filled dirt stadium. 

One raised hand holds what seems to be a weirdly shaped dagger - it’s a bit too far away to see correctly - before it plunges into the beast’s back, tearing a furious cry from it as it shudders in pain. Its movement jostles the figure around, but they don’t seem to care that much, holding steadily their ground - it awakens old memories of afternoons spent training and refining balance with Master Calvin, because what good is a fighter if they can get knocked on their asses at the first kick in the shin, but he figures the stranger might have served on a ship. After all, that is where Master Calvin picked that important lesson from.

The Cloaker, evidently not glad to have a knife stuck to its back, decides to take matters into its own … wings? and wraps them around its body before quickly and sharply twisting on itself, probably intent on flinging the hooded figure away. 

And in its defence, the figure does get thrown off, but as their body flies up towards the sky, it follows a weird trajectory - a hand suddenly grabs his bicep as Sapnap lets out a breathless “holy shit”. That’s when he notices the thick chain the stranger is holding onto, and the weird curvature of the “dagger” they used suddenly makes a lot of sense. 

He can’t help but laugh as the figure folds on themselves in order to sail towards the ground, the chain wrapping itself around the Cloaker - whose wings are still wrapped around itself, leaving Dream to wonder how much preparation went into that, or if the four of them have travelled the Underdark and fought one before. 

Back on the ground, the kid is hopping from one foot to the other, staring upwards as his teammate descends; he then starts running and  _ leaps _ , definitely more than should be possible, and grabs the figure’s leg as the chain is starting to curl back upwards, guided by its own momentum, furtherly pushing it forward. 

The two struggle for a moment as the kid climbs his teammate’s body, reaching the chain himself moments before the other lets go; then, with a sudden burst of flames, the tiefling pops out of existence, only to reappear a split second later once again over the Cloaker’s back. 

But Dream misses what happens on that side of the battlefield, because his eyes follow the movement of the cloaked figure as they fall - he expects somebody to catch them, to throw a spell to prevent them from crashing to the ground, but it never happens: the stranger lands on their feet and immediately propels themselves forward, rolling on the ground and quickly standing back up, as if they hadn’t just fallen from  _ way too high up _ , and unsheathing a stunning looking shortsword. 

Before he can stop himself, Dream hits Sapnap’s side with his elbow, eyes wide open because he is  _ so sure _ . He know that, he’s seen that move so many times it’s been seared into his brain - his ankles still ache with the phantom pain of trying to achieve that specific landing technique. 

Master Calvin’s pride and joy-

“That’s him- Sap!” He whispers in a hush, urgently patting his best friend’s side, trying to catch his attention; the beast’s angry screams are loud now, the chains around its body red and flaming, constricting its movements as it slowly descends to the ground again, thrashing against its restraints, but Dream can’t find it in himself to care about it that much at that moment, eyes trained on the cloaked figure that he’s heard about for years and years of training. 

Still, Sapnap doesn’t look, all of his attention focused on the actual fighting happening, giving a questioning grunt before yelling out in glee as the Cloaker crashes to the ground, its tail lashing out wildly and almost crashing against the bard’s body. So Dream insists, quickly pinching his side, instantly finding himself face to face with a very unamused monk. 

“What the fuck?!” Sapnap asks indignantly, only for his brows to furrow in confusion at his friend’s elated expression, Dream leaning forward to whisper urgently:

“That’s Techno.” 

He waits for him at the exit. 

He doesn’t really know why he does, since they will be both tired and beaten up - he’ll still surely be high on adrenaline after his team’s quite honestly glorious win - but he doesn’t really want to wait, he can’t really find it in himself to do so. 

And also, he does it simply because he can. All participants have access to the same parts of the stadium, so there is nobody trying to stop him and Sapnap as they move towards the exit. Well, of course there are guards that check their identities, and guards that watch over all corridors. But still. Nobody stops them or questions them while they wait. 

Loud chatter and laughter announces their incoming arrival - a bright, almost wheezing laugh is almost completely covered by a strong and high voice quickly recounting “that absolutely badass move I pulled, they’ll be talking about it for  _ years _ , you’ve got to write a song about that!” - and when they turn the corner and appear at the end of the corridor Dream can’t help but feel himself stiffen. 

Either from the sight of his hooded … rival? from across the corridor - he looks definitely much taller now that he’s not so far away - or from how the druid’s eyes zero on him  _ instantly _ , pinning him down with a neutral stare and a cryptic smile. 

“And the  _ jump _ ! Why don’t you use that spell more often, I love it so very much... Ph- I mean Flinar?” The kid stumbles on his words as he notices the elf has stopped laughing, following his eyesight with a confused expression that turns even more perplexed when he sees him and Sapnap standing there, evidently waiting for them. 

“Oi! You two got a problem?” The kid asks, loudly, shooting looks towards the guards -  _ counting them, making eyesight as if to check if they’re on a specific side, the kid has evidently been through some stuff _ \- so Dream raises his hands placatingly, displaying the lack of weapons in his hands. 

“No problem at all! Just wanted to congratulate you on the fight, it was spectacular!”

Behind the kid, he sees Techno’s shoulders sag with a silent sigh before he steps forward. 

Oh, so he  _ does _ know him.

It’s actually quite sweet how the whole group moves as a single unit, following behind Techno despite the fact that he probably intended to be the only one getting closer to the two of them.

Dream forces himself to display a relaxed attitude as he moves to meet him halfway - which he is, relaxed, he is calm, he has nothing to worry about, there’s nothing as normal and boring as meeting one of the best fighters there is in this whole region. 

Up this close, Techno is definitely taller than him, which is something that doesn’t really happen much, with Dream being a half orc; once again, that has no effect whatsoever on his mood, nor the confidence he has regarding this meeting. The positive thing is, being shorter than him allows him to have a clear view of his face under the hood - if he hadn't been sure before, the bright blue eyes, pink toned skin and tusks would have surely confirmed his suspicions. 

“I’m Dream, this is Sapnap. I assume I shouldn't be naming any names, right?” He quips, a smirk on his face that gets slightly bigger when the shifter in front of him huffs out a silent laugh, apparently amused, and extends a hand towards him. 

“ _ Jerry _ .” He grumbles out, prompting Dream to use all of his existing willpower to avoid laughing over the clearly fake name as he grips his hand in a handshake; Sapnap has much less restraint, bursting into a wheezing laughter and doubling over - he swears he hears the bard snort a laugh too, but when he looks at him his face is blank. 

“So, who is this?” The kid asks, looking puzzledly between the two of them. 

“One of Calvin’s students.” Techno answers quickly, prompting an understanding “oh” from the young tiefling, before pinning Sapnap down with a calculating look.

“And I guess you trained with Fruit.” The monk nods with a grin, turning his face towards the youngest of the group. 

“I loved your fire tricks, I deal with fire too.” 

“Well, mines are definitely better.” The kid replies instantly, so sure of his words that Dream is immediately wheezing, leaning onto Sapnap for support as the monk gapes, shocked.

“Oh my- Oh Sap you just got  _ destroyed _ by a  _ child _ !” The half orc wheezes out, which is an even worse choice because the kid explodes into literal fire, flames licking at his body as anger fills his eyes.

“I am  _ NOT _ a  _ fucking child _ !” He yells out, furious, but what frightening factor he could have had is very much dampened by how the rest of his team is laughing about it - the bard, which at this point Dream is half convinced must be  _ the _ Wilbur Soot, is vehemently agreeing, laughing as he insists that yes, that is a child, a youngster, and the two quickly lose themselves into a heated debate. 

After a moment, the druid steps in - that’s gotta be the Wandering King; they’re in the presence of legends, watching them squabble with a tiefling kid, shaking hands and playfully trading quips - placing a placating hand on each of the two tieflings’ shoulders and prompting their fighting to quiet down. 

“We should be going, it’s late and we need to rest. It was a pleasure to meet you two.” 

“Likewise. We’ll see eachother on the battlefield, then, I assume?” Dream asks, shooting Techno a glance; the man simply raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“If we must.” 

With one last chuckle, Dream turns on his heel, him and Sapnap moving back towards the viewing stands where they had previously left Eret and George. 

“We’re gonna kick your asses!” Yells the kid a moment later; when Dream turns back he’s got a daring expression on his face, but he looks excited - it reminds him of himself, and he can’t help but laugh. 

“Not if we destroy you first!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note in case it wasn't clear: Tommy is a human, but he has horns and a tail due to his demonic pact.  
> Due to this, Dream mistakes him for a tiefling. But he's not ahahh

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to check out the wonderful things people have been making for the AU!
> 
> @/artlandom on Twitter ; whatimevendoinhere on Tumblr for wonderful art!  
> @/Spout_ink on Twitter for wonderful art!  
> julius-ranch on Tumblr, who will be posting an amazing fanfic!


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